There was no longer any question as to the house being on fire. Very rapidly Mary proceeded to don her clothing; her idea afterwards was to alarm the house. The girl was not conscious of any feeling of fear, though she was trembling from head to foot. She had had but a poor night's rest, and the strain of the previous day had tried her. And now as she huddled into her clothing, she was conscious of a kind of relief, the feeling that if the house was burnt down a way had been found out of her troubles.

There was an emotion almost of gladness in the thought. But the pride of race and place came back, and Mary hastened to her task. Dashwood Hall must be saved at any cost--the historic house must not be allowed to perish. There were pictures and works of art there that had almost a national interest.

Mary flung the door open and strode boldly into the corridor, but she did not gain a yard before she was driven back by a dense mass of suffocating smoke. The corridor was filled with it, thick, black, and overpowering. It was absolutely impossible to force a way through that blinding cloud. Mary screamed at the top of her voice, but no reply came. Already her brain began to reel, already her lungs almost ceased to work. There was only one thing for it--to shut the door and seek for some other exit.

Back in the bedroom the air was comparatively pure. The window looked on to a green court with a high hedge of clipped yew trees beyond. It was one of the quietest and most shady rooms in the house, and Mary had chosen it for that very reason. In the winter she occupied another apartment. But its very quietness frightened the girl now. As she looked out of the small diamond casement in the great stone mullion, she realised that it would be impossible for any grown figure to squeeze through. She might have taken the risk of jumping down on to the grass, but the bars of the mullion window were too close together to permit of the attempt. And already the draught from the open window was drawing the smoke into the room.

Listening intently, Mary could hear the sound of shouts and the tramping of feet; now, she caught the echo of horses' hoofs as mounted messengers galloped down the drive. She shouted aloud, but nobody appeared to hear her. The thick high hedge of yews seemed to smother her voice. It was dreadful to be caught in a trap like that, but Mary resolved to meet her fate bravely.

Probably the volume of smoke would cause unconsciousness long before the dreaded fire reached its victim. There would be no pain or suffering. It seemed to Mary that she had heard people speak of such things before. Well, she would die alone, and nobody would know how the end had come.

Not quite alone! Suddenly Mary remembered that old Patience was in the dressing-room and looked towards the couch there.

She rubbed her eyes in astonishment. Patience was no longer there. Perhaps she had not been able to sleep, probably she had aroused herself very early and gone about her business. At any rate, she was not in the dressing-room, and Mary felt glad of it. The horror of the situation was lessened by the absence of the demented woman.

Greatly daring, Mary opened the window and screamed for help once more. She could hear yells and calls, and presently the steady throb of what she knew to be an engine. But all the time the smoke was growing thicker and denser in the room. So far Mary could not hear the crackling of flames, she was not sensible of the fact that the room was getting any warmer. There was always the hope that the fire might be subdued before it got a good hold of the building. A great deal of timber had gone to the building of Dashwood Hall, but the walls were of the most solid masonry, and it was quite possible for the fire to burn out a room or two without going any farther.

Something like an hour passed, an hour that seemed like eternity. The shouting and the tramping and the thudding were still going on. Then came a lull for the moment, and it seemed to Mary that somebody was calling her by name, somebody inside the house. She waited a moment, thinking perhaps that it was her excited fancy, but once more the call came, and this time from the corridor.

Mary thrilled as she heard the voice. At last they had discovered her absence. She opened the door and called in reply. The smoke was thick as ever, but there was no sign of flame. Out of the dense whirling mass a figure emerged and staggered breathlessly into the bedroom. It was the figure of a man with his handkerchief pressed to his mouth. He gasped for breath and closed the door behind him. His face was blackened and grimed with smoke, but Mary had no difficulty in recognising Ralph Darnley.

"Again," she said unsteadily, "you are like a ............